


you wanna play with fire (stick and poke tattoo)

by HomebodyNobody



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, JJ Maybank Has a Big Dick, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Some Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, if ya squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomebodyNobody/pseuds/HomebodyNobody
Summary: 'JJ chews on the information she’s given him, tracing his fingers down her arm, over the curve of her elbow and back up to her shoulder. “You’re still gonna go home, right?” He asks, uncertainty and maybe longing in his voice. She realizes, then, that of course she is. Her parents love her, even if they don’t know how to show it, don't understand what the Cut and its inhabitants (and one in particular) mean to her. Of course, she’s going to go home. Because JJ doesn’t get to. Because she still can.'(Based on a filming video the gc tracked down where Kiara argues with her parents and her mom shouts something about boarding school.)
Relationships: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carerra, JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), Kiara Carrera/JJ Maybank
Comments: 19
Kudos: 104





	you wanna play with fire (stick and poke tattoo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiaras/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Bella! A day late, sorry, but the ending just didn't wanna be written  
> (hi yeah this is porn sue me  
> blame this on [Katie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaatiekinss/pseuds/kaatiekinss) and [Lara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseofWinterfell/pseuds/RoseofWinterfell) okay)

‘ _ Come home on time or don’t bother coming home at all!’ _

Her mother’s words echo in her ears as Kiara stomps away from the house in the late-summer heat. Tears well and sting in her eyes and she wipes them away, refusing to let them fall. She doesn’t understand why her parents don’t  _ get it _ . Her dad  _ grew up  _ in the Cut. Her mom fell in love there, had Kie there, got married there. She  _ belongs _ there, so much more than on Figure Eight or anywhere else in kooklandia. There’s an honesty to the Cut that evaporates the closer you get to the country clubs and McMansions on the other side of the island. Her heart feels open there, loved and loving. What happened, to make her parents forget all that? Is money really that important, that corrupting and all-consuming, that they would forget what loyalty feels like? What family is? 

JJ’s sitting on the porch when she gets to the Chateau, a paperback folded in half in his left hand and a soda dangling from his right. He stands up when he sees her. “Hey,” he says. He’s wearing one of his absurd cutoffs, cargo shorts slung low and no shoes. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear and his hair is a ruffled mess, like he’s had his hands in it, thinking too hard. He looks like some ridiculous parody of a vagabond, every bad boy the after-school specials always warned her about. 

Taking a deep breath, she nods to the book in his hand. “I didn’t know you could read,” she says. It’s easier to make fun then show the way her heart opens and bleeds at the sight of him. 

He smiles, lopsided and quiet. “Good to see you, too.” 

She mounts the stairs to the porch without asking, even though with every step she takes closer to him, she’s less sure of how to act. They haven’t talked since the night John B died, since the last time she was here. They had sex, the night the  _ Phantom _ went down. It was fast and messy and a little awkward, because she was still Kie and he was still JJ, and fucking your best friend for the first time is never easy, now matter how long you’ve been waiting to do it. 

It’s barely been a week, but it feels like longer, and since she got home that next morning, her parents have been tiptoeing around her, waiting for something to break. It was the simplest thing, really, Kie wondering aloud about JJ, about how he was doing and how she might help him pay off his restitution. (Now that Plan A has spiraled down to Plan L and that failed, besides.) It was her mother and her thinly-veiled scoff, the way it tugged at Kie like calloused skin on fresh sheets. It was Kie mentioning dipping into her college fund to help him, and her parents promptly flying off the handle. 

And then, the threat of  _ boarding school _ , of taking her away from everything she knows and everything she loves, shutting her up in the mountains like some hysterical family member in a Victorian asylum, sending her to some institution claiming to be a high school but is basically a finishing school prepping spoiled debutantes for husband-hunting at the ivies. She won’t be one of those girls. 

JJ greets her with the usual handshake, and when he goes to sit back down, she grabs at his fingers before she loses the courage, because she doesn’t want to think about any of it anymore, not John B or Sarah, not boarding school, not the tenuous future her parents are planning for her and how little she wants it. He stops, frozen, and every one of her senses is trained on the minimal brush of skin, the tension in his back. She wants her hands on him, her nails dragging down his arms, the taste of his sweat and the burn of his gaze. She wants to be lost in him, because touching JJ switches everything else off. He’s like a magnet for her attention, everything blurring until it’s just his mouth and his hands and his -- 

“Kie,” he says, a warning in his usually jovial voice. His gaze is locked on her hand, her slender fingers tangled in his, gentle things, held between strength and violence. “You said --” 

“I  _ know _ \--” she says, pausing for half a second, surprised by her tone and the immediacy of her response. How quickly she wants to forget the lies she told herself about being able to stay away from him, after knowing what his tongue feels like on her clit and the way he fits perfectly inside her, like they were meant to come together. “What I said.” She’s looking at their linked hands as well, but she’s imagining his between her legs, wants to pull him forward and put it there, just to stop feeling so fucking  _ human,  _ because he makes her feel celestial, instead. 

“So?” he asks, licking his lips, his breath picking up like he can read her mind, see her the way she wants to be, naked and underneath him. 

“So maybe,” she says, her heartbeat rising in her own throat, taking half a step toward him, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes betray him, flicking up to her face and following the motion. She looks up at him, and the second her brown eyes land on his, he’s done resisting, done even considering it. He melts, when she looks at him like that, so grateful for it, after waiting so many years convinced it wouldn’t ever happen. “I changed my mind.” 

The air hangs heavy and charged as JJ’s rational side, weak to begin with and driven deep with years of half-thought-out decisions and anticipated-yet-ignored consequences, scrambles to pull him out of her orbit, to get him to let go and stop her from burning up in the periphery of his constant firestorm. But her eyes are on his, and she’s touching him, and she’s  _ asking _ , and the moon could fall without him noticing, right now. 

She pulls, and he follows, and they’re crashing into each other, a kiss that starves before it is even born. Paint flakes and dust fill the air when she slams back against the side of the house, her arms looped around JJ’s neck, one of his tight around her waist, the other braced on the siding, fist clenched, forearm taught. The second he touches her, the world stops spinning, or maybe just they do, because she’s dizzy and soaring under his mouth, chest to chest and sharing breath between teeth and lips and tongues. Victory rises in her chest, pride and anticipation simmering just below the beautiful, vacant hunger that comes from JJ kissing her like this, and it’s that pride that bruises, just a little, when he pulls away. 

“You can’t just jump me when you’re upset,” he says, but it’s into her neck, practically a growl as his hand flexes against the small of her back, gathering up her shirt, his fingernails just grazing her skin. 

“Can’t I?” she answers, canting her hips up a fraction, pushing against him, demanding his return to ravishing her indecently. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Kie --” he says, and he’s nipping at her neck in bursts, like he knows they should be talking about this, but he can’t help but touch her, overwhelmed with the need to taste her skin and leave her wanting. 

“Fine,” she says, sliding her forearm against his shoulder until her hand buries itself in his hair, pulling him back up and kissing him fiercely. “We’ll talk about it,” she sighs, before diving back in for another hard, demanding kiss. And then, “After.” 

“Yeah, okay,” JJ relents, pushing off the side of the house and dragging her toward the front door. It’s not a choice but a capitulation, a giving in to the unstoppable force that is Kiara tugging at his soul. Because he’d do anything for her, anything  _ to _ her that she asks, no matter what he tells himself. He slides his teeth over her bottom lip and pulls away, panting. “After.” They slam through the screen door, stumbling over a broken ankle tether and the trash JJ had been meaning to take out, not even bothering with the farce of trying to make it to the bedroom. Her calves slam into the pullout and she topples backwards, taking her with him. 

Kissing JJ is a little like waiting out a hurricane and finally hitting the eye. Thrilling and terrifying, surrounded by power and strength, destruction and damage, but finding peace and respite, and a promise, a hint of the sun. Once he has her underneath him, he slows down, settling his weight between her legs, keeping himself propped on his elbows while he kisses her, solid and hard in his intent. It’s torture, him dancing above her, licking into her mouth only to back off and press kisses across her face, her jaw, and down her neck, sucking damning, claiming marks before scraping his teeth over her ear with the slightest pressure, teasing her, pulling obscene noises from her throat and driving her insane. She pushes her hips up again, and he responds with a deep, heavy roll of his, and she can feel his cock, hot and already half-hard, through the layers of fabric between them. 

She wants to feel it, in her hand, her mouth, pressing torturously, deliciously inside her, and he’s still  _ fully clothed _ and taking  _ way too much damn time _ . Surging up against him, she flips the two of them over, dangerously close to the edge, and straddles his hips, dragging her hands down his chest. Tossing her hair out of her face and pulling it all to one side, she risks glancing down at him, afraid of the vulnerable drop of her stomach every time she meets his eyes. JJ’s an eclipse in totality, pupils blown wide, shining underneath her, beaming in her shadow. His lips are slightly parted, red and wet, hair disheveled, hands coming down to slide up her thighs, and the image is so hot, so perfect, her chest aches as her cunt throbs for him, a dangerous, terrifying combination. She takes off her shirt. 

The sigh he lets out is entirely involuntary, reveling in the warmth and the weight of her, in awe of the smooth plains of exposed skin and the soft curves of her body. She leans down to kiss it out of his mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, the other sliding around the back of her arm as she holds face. It’s too gentle, too kind and slow, so she sinks her teeth into his lower lip until he groans and tightens her fist in his hair, pulling her with him as she straightens. His hands frame her hips as she grinds down on him, and he ducks his head to lay kisses across her collarbones, his hands sliding up her sides, electric on her bare skin. Letting her head fall back, she takes in the feeling of his lips on her chest, his thumbs tucking under the band of her bra. One stays to brush back and forth over the side of her breast while the other reaches around and pinches apart the clasp in an expert move. Her stomach drops at the thought of JJ doing this with other girls. 

Taking her hands from his hair to cup his jaw, she redirects his attention back to her lips as her bra slides down her arms and her nipples pebble in the cool air. She holds on just a little too long, presses into him closed-mouth and soft, and he melts under her touch, his hands framing her ribs, her hair falling around them in a peach-scented curtain. When he initiates moments like this, she runs from them, too scared of what she might feel if she falls in like she’s falling now, heart pounding, her thumbs skating over his cheekbones. He leans up into her touch, one of his arms dropping to her waist and pulling her in closer to him, holding her tight. She pulls away from the kiss, keeping her forehead pressed to his. 

“Kie,” he sighs. Her breath hitches at the sound of her name from his mouth, like it almost always does, except he’s never close enough to notice. The silence that follows holds too much for the small space it occupies, and while she has no idea what he’s scared of saying, it almost falls from his lips anyway. Before he can make too much of an idiot out of himself, she pulls her arms back out of the straps of her bra, reaching between them to toss it to the side. As she does, she keeps his eyes on his, the smallest pockets of relief opening as his gaze drops to her tits, and then the heat in her stomach picking up again as he licks his lips. He ducks his head again, taking one of her nipples into his mouth like a sacrament, like she’s holy, closing his eyes and moaning, deep and satisfied at the taste of her skin. It goes straight to her cunt, and she feels wetness gathering there, even more than before. 

This, they’ve already done. There’s still fading bruises across her chest from the first night they spent together, when he ate her out til she screamed and then fucked her senseless, and while that seems to be the course of action he’s aiming for here, she has other ideas. She slides her hands back into JJ’s hair -- God, she could spend hours playing with JJ’s hair -- and tightens her grip, her blunt nails scraping gently over his scalp. In return, he teases his teeth over her nipple, and when she arches and gasps at the motion, tries to flip himself back on top. 

But Kiara has a goal, and she tightens her thighs around his hips, flattening her hands on his chest and pushing back, shaking her head playfully. He raises his eyebrows and flashes her half a smile, as if to say ‘ _ oh, really?’, _ but settles his hands on her hips and lets her take charge. Her first order of business is getting him just as naked as she is; he holds up his arms obediently as she tugs his shirt off of him, and this is different now, than when it started. They’re taking their time with each other, grateful to drop the guise of desperation and explore every secret spot and inch of forbidden skin. It should scare the shit out of her, and it sort of does, but it’s also… kinda  _ fun _ . JJ makes this shy vulnerability so easy to sink into, knowing that any teasing has no real heat behind it, that he’ll be gentle and kind and listen to what she wants and what she likes. Yes, the bar is on the floor, but this boy is her best friend for a reason, this loving, crazy dumbass, that would set himself on fire to keep her warm. And that trust, those years of rapport and familiarity, make moments like these so much more comfortable, easier with a net underneath the thrill of flying high, trading touch for pleasure and knowing that he’ll be there to catch her on the comedown. 

She leans down and kisses him, soft at first and then deeper, licking into his mouth and rolling her hips down onto him, stretching her arms above his head and dragging her tits up his bare torso, smiling against his lips at the sound he makes. Ducking her head against his neck, she leaves her own trail of marks and then shifts her weight off of him to the side so she can reach down and pop the fly of his shorts open with one hand. He hisses in a sharp inhale when she reaches her hand between the layers of clothing and palms him over his underwear, giving him a second of satisfying contact before backing off, teasing him with her fingertips. He rolls onto his side, angling himself over her, kissing her hungrily. 

“Fucking hell, Kie,” he says, tucking his face into the side of her neck. “You got no fucking right to feel that good.” He’s warm and solid against her chest, hot and hard under her fingers, and something opens in her chest as he kisses her again, slow and sensual but not rushing, not pushing for things to go further or asking for anything she’s not willing to give. She pushes his underwear down as best she can, and he shudders as bare skin meets. The feeling of his cock in her hand sets her skin alight as he muffles moans in her neck, and she twists her hand over the head of it, spreading the wetness she finds there over the shaft. 

JJ surrenders to her, relaxing against her side as she works her hand over him, leaning into her, muttering half-formed praise into her skin like a prayer. She bites down a smile at the words, trying to hide how much she enjoys having him so vulnerable under her touch, how hot she gets listening to him react, feeling the soft skin over hard muscle. Kissing him firmly, she pushes him onto his back, leaning over him as she strokes his cock, one of his arms coming up to hold her, the other hand pushing into her hair. She hadn’t had time to do this the first night they were together, too focused on her own desperate need to get lost in him, so she takes her time working her way down his bare torso, sinking her teeth into his chest, leaving red and purple marks in her wake. 

He stutters on an inhale when he realizes what she’s doing, and when she curls her hands in the waistband of both shorts and boxers, concern fills his dear, blue eyes. “You don’t have to --” he breathes, caught between concern for her and the deep, furious want pulsing in his blood. “Just because I --” 

Kiara licks her lips, and JJ watches the movement, powerless not to. “I want to,” she says, realizing the truth of it as she says it, and the resulting look on JJ’s face puts butterflies in her stomach. (Which, like, she really doesn’t have time to think about right now.) So, in answer, she pulls his pants and underwear down and off, tossing them to the side and settling herself between his legs. It’s a little intimidating, JJ spread out naked before her, his cock eagerly awaiting her attention. She knew it was big, of course. After last time, the rumors had been confirmed true; JJ Maybank was excellently skilled with both hands and mouth, in addition to being ridiculously well-hung. It isn’t fair, really. But it’s one thing when he’s fucking her, and another when she’s face to face with it. 

He senses her hesitation and reaches down, brushing his fingers over her face in gentle reverence, and the touch shocks something inside her she’s not ready to confront. Instinctively, she pulls away, and, when concern colors his storm-sky eyes, she smiles, and ties up her hair. JJ’s breath catches in his chest as the sight, and it bolsters her confidence. She leans forward to kiss him one more time, twisting her hand over the head of his cock, solid and determined, and before he can recover, she ducks her head and takes him into her mouth. 

He grasps at the sheets as she swirls her tongue curiously around the tip, letting spit and precum drip down the shaft, spreading it towards the base with her hand. “Fuck,  _ yes _ ,” he sighs, his eyes falling closed, his head dropping to the pillow. It’s satisfying, and triumphant, and  _ hot _ , to see him so at her mercy, helpless and prone in the oldest kind of worship. After a while of torturous teasing, she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth, pressing her thumb into her palm to push down her gag reflex -- a trick Sarah told her about that she’s never needed til him. He  _ keens _ , and the noise has her pushing her hips against the mattress, rocking into the seam of her shorts. Bobbing her head, experimenting with pace and angle, she flicks her tongue smartly against the underside of the tip of his cock, and the moan that follows that move is  _ very interesting _ indeed. She tries it a few more times until he’s gasping out a warning, and she draws back until her lips just wrap around the head, swallowing neatly as he chokes out her name. 

She comes up smiling, and he half sits up, reaching for her, sated and grasping. He kisses her soundly, pulling her back down next to him, one hand in her hair, one arm around her waist, his favorite way to hold her, it seems. Settling her on her back, his tongue meets hers and he groans at the taste of himself. “You,” he says, pulling back to press kisses down her neck. She can’t keep in the happy, smug giggle that works its way out of her chest. “Are  _ so _ fucking hot.” 

“Not too bad yourself,” she laughs as he tucks his face between her tits, the last word followed by a sharp gasp as he wraps his lips around a nipple, like he can’t help but have his mouth on her, can’t help but taste her skin and send her heart racing. 

“I knew you were looking,” he says, propping his chin on her sternum and looking up at her with a shit-eating grin, mischief and post-orgasm glow sparkling in his stupid, stupid blue eyes. He’s been paying attention to her, thinking about this. The thought flips something over in her chest, and she shoves his head playfully. 

“Shut up,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. She picks her hips up, trying to keep him focused on the event at hand. Yeah, JJ’s easily distracted, but she’s half-naked in front of him, She kinda hoped that would avoid unnecessary conversation. “And get back to work.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he says, half-kidding -- but his eyes darken just a shade too far to be all tease. (Which, she thinks to herself, is certainly something to be investigated.) He devotes his full attention back to her chest, licking and sucking and biting at her nipples, loving the soft, small noises she makes under his touch. Her tits aren’t usually so sensitive, but JJ knows what the fuck he’s doing, and it’s unfair how much he’s able to work her up with her pants still on. Blowing him was already incredibly hot, and, when his hand  _ finally _ slides into her underwear, he curses at the wetness he finds between her legs. “Holy  _ hell _ , Kie,” he sighs. 

“Maybe a little more hell,” she says, gripping his arm as his finger drags slowly up her slit, “and a little less holy?” She bites her lip as he teases her, dipping in and out of her folds, tracing his fingers over the lips of her cunt, because he wants her to keep making those godforsaken sounds. Because he can. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a smart mouth?” he asks, raising his head to suck a mark directly under her ear, smiling against her skin at the resulting gasp. 

“Maybe, ah --” she cries, when his careful fingers find her clit and his calloused fingertips explore the sensitive area, “once or twice.” 

This is…  _ way _ more talking than last time. Last time was desperate and grief-stricken and needy, a request for heedless escape in the wake of the unthinkable. Now -- it’s still a distraction, but there were other courses of action available when she showed up at the Chateau as the sun started to sit low in the afternoon sky. She didn’t have to jump him. He didn’t have to let her. JJ kisses her, deep and  _ filthy _ , putting himself back in charge, angling his body over hers as she presses back into the thin mattress, arcing into his touch, one hand braced on his (very nice) bicep, the other tangled in his messy, golden hair. 

He focuses on her clit, spreading the wetness up from her entrance and toying with different pressure and motions, paying attention to what she likes, and she directs him with the sounds she makes, every small moan a ‘yes, please, more of that.’ He’s the most responsive partner she’s ever had, focused on her and her only, his main purpose to make  _ her _ feel good, not work her up just to fuck or speed past foreplay to move to something more. It makes it better, and when he finally slides a finger into her, he gasps, too, because it’s a privilege for him to feel her, hot and wet and waiting. 

“Oh, god,” she whines, as he pumps his finger slowly in and out of her, his thumb on her clit. 

“God’s a little formal,” he says, lifting his head to look at her, his expression teasing even as kindness and something else big and unwanted settles in his eyes. “You can stick with JJ.” She tries to smack his arm for that, but ends up sinking her nails into his skin as he slides another finger inside of her a little too easily. He goes slowly, curling his fingers up into her g-spot with every stroke, kissing her lazily and alternating to her neck when she can’t help but gasp at his touch. 

It’s torture, the way he takes his time, and after a while she’s begging. “Fuck me, JJ,” she pleads. “God, fuck me,  _ please _ ,” and his spent cock twitches against her leg because fuck if  _ that _ isn’t something he’s been waiting to hear. His hand speeds up as he decides his next move. When he takes his hands out of her pants she lets out a sound she’d rather he didn’t remember, but based on the way that he smiles against her skin, he won’t be doing that any time soon. He doesn’t even have time to pause at her waistband as he kisses down her body, because she’s very enthusiastically supporting what’s about to happen next, shoving both shorts and underwear down. 

He chuckles and tugs them off, tossing them somewhere that’s future Kie’s problem, and heat rises in him again as she spreads her legs for him. Settling on his stomach, he hooks his arms under her thighs, miles of bare skin pressing together with a quiet whisper of faith. She runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses up her legs, taking his time, reveling in the sight and the smell of her. Foolish smiles meet in shy glances and chuckles that are half breath and half disbelief. JJ radiates warmth from his bare skin, broad and powerful below her, and she hooks a leg over his shoulder, sliding her foot up his back and biting her lip as he raises his eyebrows in response, drawing closer to her hot, aching center. 

He starts lightly, dragging the tip of his tongue up her slit, just to taste the wetness there, to make her squirm and curse and ask for more. It’s hard to resist the way she begs for him, and he sets in with a purpose, flicking his tongue over her clit and fitting two fingers inside of her, mouth and hands working with a skilled harmony. She clutches at his hair, not afraid to drag her fingernails over his scalp, vocal and unapologetic in how much she’s enjoying this, how much she wants him. When he finds a combination of hooking his fingers against her g-spot and brushing the tip of his tongue over her clit, her legs clamp around his head as she begins to climb, a deep pull starting low in her stomach. 

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, “fucking hell, JJ -- God, just like that, don’t fucking stop.  _ Please _ don’t fucking stop.” He doesn’t, and the sound that comes out of her as she crashes over the edge is loud and guttural and possibly the hottest thing that’s ever fucking happened to him. She cums against his mouth furiously, her stomach flexing and her legs shaking, and he’s a little proud of himself, honestly, as he brings her down gently, sliding his fingers out of her, soothing her with long strokes of his tongue. When her breathing finally slows, he presses kisses over her thighs and then her stomach as he rises back up to meet her. 

She kisses him, awestruck and grateful, not minding her own taste as she pulls him down against her, wanting as much bare skin to be touching as possible. She tucks his hair behind his ears and strokes her thumb over his jaw before he falls on his side next to her, staring, tracing his hand up her side in veneration and wonder. It’s hard, the weight of his gaze, so she closes her eyes, drops her forehead against his. “Literally how,” she sighs, and laughs, one arm tucked under his neck and hooked around his shoulders, the other draped over his trim waist. 

“It’s not hard,” he promises (falsely), cheshire grin in full force. “Just paying attention.” He kisses her before she has a chance to respond, mostly gentle but with a sense he’s holding back a little, inviting her to take the next step forward. She deliberates for a moment as she sucks on his lower lip, scraping her teeth gently, cataloguing every noise he makes and what move precedes it, learning him. She could go home, now. She’s been sufficiently distracted. She feels a little better, like maybe she can talk to her parents without screaming her head off or bursting into tears. But the pull of the boy next to her is strong and tempting, miles of tan skin with rippling muscle shifting underneath. 

The secret is, she always wants to touch JJ. Something about him is magnetic, like a gravitational field she can’t resist. Whenever they’re in the van or on the  _ Pogue _ or even just chilling on the couch, she finds herself shifting closer. She’s always stepping just behind his shoulder, would prop her chin there -- if she didn’t know that he would freeze up and question the physical contact. Sometimes, she feels jealousy ache in her stomach at his casual physicality with Pope and John B, always slinging his arm around their shoulders or play-fighting or latching onto them, just to be annoying. He’s still physical with her -- she doesn’t think he knows how not to be -- but it’s different, restrained, and sometimes she sees him half-move, reaching out instinctually, only to second guess himself and let his hands fall. 

She shifts into him, pressing herself as close as she can, appreciating the gasp he lets out at the press of her bare chest against his, her leg sliding against his dick, already half-hard again. They kiss for a while, and it would be lazy and slow, if they could let themselves relax; but JJ’s still biting something down, and Kie starts to get frustrated trying to draw it out. Finally, tired of waiting, she licks into his mouth with a sudden push, and he’s not surprised, but annoyingly expectant, glad his baiting has finally worked. There’s a moment of tension and pushing as they silently argue who’s going to be on top, and Kie wins when she reaches down and wraps her hand around his cock. 

He falls back, and she climbs on top of him, biting down a wide grin of her own. She sits back on her heels, sticking out her chest a little, stroking him slowly, reveling in the way he fights to control his expression. He starts at her tits, palming them with work-roughened hands, before sliding his palms down her body, lingering on the curve of her waist, brushing over her ass, running down her thighs and back up. She lets her head fall back, drinking in his touch, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to meet his. She can feel him staring, though, unrelenting and hungry, merciless in the way he worships her. She can’t look at him, can’t take the kind of want and lust seething in his eyes, so settles herself over his cock, sliding her cunt up and down his shaft, her hands braced on his chest, his hands gripping her hips, fingertips sinking into her skin. 

Part of her wants him to leave bruises, even though she knows he’s not holding her roughly enough for that. He’s being so  _ kind _ , so soft and respectful, everything she never thought he would be in a situation like this. She loves the tease, the slow build, but she  _ wants _ him now, viscerally so, rocking her hips over him, hearing him shudder and moan, feeling him clutch at her. She wants him to beg for her, keen her name like she did his. Leaning down to kiss him, she pushes herself all the way up his cock, the tip just brushing her entrance, and he moans, long and filthy. “God,” he gasps, barely coherent. “Fuck, Kiara,  _ please _ .” 

She smiles at that, sitting up, standing on her knees and taking him in her hand. They’d talked about being clean, about her IUD, the first night, and while she’s grateful she doesn’t have to have the same conversation again, it sets an unnerving precedent. The first time was supposed to be the last time. And now there’s today, and she’s not certain she wants to give him up, yet. She doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t know what he’s feeling or what anything between them would look like in a world so tempest-tossed and half-destroyed. But this -- this part will always be easy.

Taking him inside her feels like a prayer. She goes slowly, sinking down, giving herself time to adjust to his size, his hands flexing on her hips. He fills her perfectly, and she’s never believed the bullshit about soulmates or needing someone else to be complete, but with JJ’s cock inside her, his hips, narrow and strong between her legs, she feels a hell of a lot closer to whole. She starts to move, slow and deep, squeezing him on the way up, bottoming out on the way down. He curses and clenches his teeth, wound so tight she can see it, and she wants him to snap, to flip them in a single move and fuck her into the mattress. 

He watches her, lets her set the rhythm, thrusting up as she pushes down, but the movement is still tight and controlled. She knows this boy inside and out, knows that he’s holding back for her, afraid of hurting her, of losing her trust or making her feel objectified or powerless. She knows he wants to be careful, to not fuck this up -- because this is a  _ this _ , now, neither of them have any say in that anymore -- but she also wants his raw power, his strength and abandon, and maybe that’s what drives the next words to fall from her mouth. 

  
“Come on, JJ,” she groans impatiently, raking her fingernails down his chest. “Aren’t you gonna take what’s yours?” He’s confused for exactly half a second before she shifts her weight pointedly to the empty space to their left, and before she even registers that he’s moving, she’s on her back, her hands pinned above her head, JJ’s hips slamming obscenely into her own. It’s intense and desperate and fast, and she tugs one of her hands free, bringing it down to her clit to rub hard circles there in pace with his wild hips, knowing he won’t last long like this and chasing that cherished high, just behind him. 

He comes before she does on a sharp, animalistic cry, tensing above her and filling her with warmth. She doesn’t have time to be disappointed, because he swears, pulls out, and replaces his cock immediately with his fingers. His cum makes it easy to fit three fingers inside her at once, dextrous and skilled, focused on making her orgasm just as good as his. It doesn’t take long until she’s grabbing at his shoulder, panting and moaning and almost crying, he feels so good, and when he bats aside the hand on her clit in favor of ducking between her legs and replacing it with his mouth, she  _ screams _ , riding his face and his hand as wave upon wave crashes over her, feet pushing her hips off the pullout, legs quivering and stomach tense. He stays with her, merciless, flicking his tongue across her clit over and over again, until she has to shove his head away with trembling hands, collapsing into the bed in holy, sated exhaustion. 

It takes her a second to open her eyes, and when she does, he’s back up next to her, pushing the three fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. “You’re disgusting,” she says, but she’s still panting, out of breath while her chest heaves, and it carries little heat. 

He brushes gentle fingers over her temple, tucking away a stray curl. “But we taste so good together,” he teases, his breath fanning across her face as he leans down to kiss her. Their mouths move in lazy harmony, finally at ease, and, of course, he’s right. “C’mon,” he says, tucking his face against her neck, his floppy blond hair falling into her eyes. “Shower?” 

“Mmmm,” she hums, thinking she might be anchored to the bed at the base of her spine. “Maybe in a sec.” Honestly, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing that. He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s done, and shoves himself up as she curses his never-ending, boundless energy. He brings her water and some paper towels to clean herself up, and, when he sees her sitting up, searching for her underwear, digs in the duffel on the armchair and tosses her a pair of boxers. 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “What?” he protests, tugging underwear and a pair of basketball shorts up over his ass. (Which she’s a little disappointed to see disappear beneath layers of fabric once more). “They’re clean.” She puts them on without standing up before rolling over to her stomach and stretching her arms out, tucking them underneath her head. Sweat cools on heated skin as golden hour stretches across the Chateau’s living room, and she wants to live in this moment forever. 

JJ lowers himself onto her back, scattering kisses across her shoulders, and she giggles and turns underneath him until they’re pressed chest-to-chest, his weight braced on his elbows on either side of her head. She looks at him, now, her hair a mess and eyes shining, skin still heated from his touch. He leans down to kiss her, and she lets him, even though this is dangerous territory, blurring hazy lines between friends and friends-with-benefits and lovers and ‘together’ and all the other things they could call themselves. The kiss is slow and sweet, and when he pulls back it’s to kiss her cheeks, her closed eyes, her nose. It’s silly and soft and so incorrect to the image of JJ she’s always had in her mind, that she laughs under his attention. 

“What?” he asks, laughing with her, dive-bombing her with kisses to her face and neck, her arms coming up around his neck, her fingers in his hair. 

“You’re so  _ dumb _ ,” she says, still laughing as she shoves him off. He doesn’t go far, just crashes down next to her, their legs still tangled, one arm tucked back under his head, the other resting on the curve of her waist. Her hands trace his arms, shoulders, chest, mapping them like territory she intends to settle. 

“Yeah, but --” he says, and then stops, because the rest of that sentence carries a different weight now. The ‘ _ you still love me _ ’ hangs in the air anyway, and it means something else than it did the last time he tossed it out -- after leaving her stranded on the marsh with Sarah Cameron, a day that feels like years ago. 

She curls her hands into fists on his chest before spreading them out again, breaking eye contact and biting her bottom lip. “Yeah,” she sighs. Because she does, even if she can’t define how anymore. 

“So you gonna tell me why you came here?” he asks, when the moment stretches on into too many seconds and the weight of it threatens to crush them both. 

Kie sighs, heavy and tired, as the memory of earlier that day comes crashing back down, chasing out the golden afternoon and pulling her back to all of the guilt and anger and frustration she’d asked JJ to distract her from. “Do I have to?” she asks, still avoiding his eyes, too tired to dodge it any more carefully than that. 

“C’mon, Kie,” he urges, “you said you’d talk about it.” She hates him for a second, because isn’t this JJ’s whole  _ thing _ ? ‘Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies,’ right? ‘Deny, deny, deny’? There are a million things he’s said, just over this summer, that she could pull out on him right now. But also, she’s not him, and she likes to talk things out, has to, or else whatever it is that’s bothering her consumes every waking thought. Maybe he knows that. Maybe he’s just being a really good friend at a really bad time.

So she tells him, because she’s avoiding Pope and John B’s fucking  _ dead _ or lost at sea or whatever the fuck he is, and so is Sarah. And even though Kiara would never have considered going to her before -- everything -- maybe she would now, if she had the chance. “My parents want to send me to boarding school,” she says, dropping it whole on his chest and hoping he can breathe under it. 

“Oh,” he sighs, like this admission has shoved the word out of him. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else, so she keeps going. “So I freaked out, and I left.” She keeps flexing her hands on his chest, keeping her eyes there even as they threaten to fill with tears. “And my mom --” she chokes, and he pulls her close, putting his lips on her forehead. “My mom said that if I didn’t --” she swallows, trying to keep it together, “that if I didn’t come home on time, not to --” she takes a controlled breath, willing the tears away. “Not to bother coming home at all.” It sounds silly, saying it to him, when she knows, now, what he’s been through. What his dad does to him and why he’s here, instead of his own house. It sounds petty and inconsequential and she’s never felt more like an ignorant kook in her life, so she sniffs, and takes her hands off him. 

JJ chews on the information she’s given him, tracing his fingers down her arm, over the curve of her elbow and back up to her shoulder. “You’re still gonna go home, right?” He asks, uncertainty and maybe longing in his voice. She realizes, then, that of course she is. Her parents love her, even if they don’t know how to show it, don't understand what the Cut and its inhabitants (and one in particular) mean to her. Of course, she’s going to go home. Because JJ doesn’t get to. Because she still can. 

If she’d had this conversation with anyone else, there would be stomping and cursing and yelling, indignant demands as to why her parents can’t understand her, why they can’t see how they suffocate her, and hold her down. But this is JJ, who doesn’t get to have problems like this, who doesn’t get to have parents that love him or watch him too closely. At least if Luke Maybank threatened to send JJ to boarding school, it would mean that he cared about JJ’s future. It would mean that he’d looked at his son, spoken to him, seen the anger and hurt and desperation to be seen. It would mean, at least, that he was paying attention. 

“Yeah,” she says. She’s still scared, of being powerless to control what they want her to do with her life, of being seventeen and helpless. But she’s not going to say that out loud, not when JJ knows what that feels like on a level she can’t even comprehend. He feels like he should say more, and part of her wants him to, but JJ’s always been shit at comforting. This, his presence, is enough. His light touches, his lips pressed to her hairline -- it’s all he has to do. When she starts to nod off, she asks him to hand her her phone, and stumbles out to the porch to dig in her bag for it. She curls on her side, sends a text to her mom about being sorry and that she’ll be home in a few hours, and then sets an alarm for thirty minutes before curfew. 

She’ll go home, but she’s going to spend as much time with him as she can. She still doesn’t think he should be alone, and she doesn’t want to be either. He fits himself in behind her, his chest pressed to her back, one arm under her neck, the other tight around her waist. They don’t talk. She doesn’t want to and he doesn’t know what he’d say. She’s exhausted and warm and JJ’s arms around her feel a little bit like armor, like when he’s holding her, the rest of the world can’t get in. Just before she falls asleep, he squeezes her tight, tucking his face into her neck. 

“You aren’t going to boarding school,” he whispers. “I promise.” She feels his lips press against her skin. She wants to turn in his arms, kiss him slow and sweet and kind, the way he deserves to be loved. But sleep tugs at her, unrelenting. Just before she slips under the waves, she hears him whisper one more thing.

“I won’t let them take you away from me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello how did ya find it? ~pleasurable~? (yanno, I think I'm funny.)  
> never forget to tip ur fic writers  
> (the tips are comments) (I do respond)  
> [tumblr](https://homebody-nobody.tumblr.com/)


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